


High Risk, Low Reward

by SoliTu



Series: Bad Beat Jackpot [1]
Category: Underfell - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crime, F/M, Female Reader, Manipulation, Military Base shenanigans, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reluctant partners in crime, Violence, alienstock, area 51, embelished areas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoliTu/pseuds/SoliTu
Summary: Alienstock. A stupid joke about storming Area 51 in September in an attempt to "see them aliens."That's all it wassupposedto be, anyway.A stupid joke.So, when you find yourself within the infamous military unit's gates along with some hundred-thousand others, you're more than a little flabbergasted by the turn of events that landed you there.And the ones that led to you fleeing with some weird jerk of an alien in tow.





	High Risk, Low Reward

With all the jokes and memes circulating, that fact that anyone had taken the situation seriously was… astonishing, to say the least.

“I don’t— how have we gotten _this far? _This is ridiculous. Unbelievable— “

“All according to the plan.”

You don’t bother hiding your sneer. “Fuck you— _according to the plan._”

She hums blithely, as if the situation isn’t dire, and tilts her head to check around the corner. “Ever wonder what Guantanamo Bay is like?”

Sneer intensifying, you hiss a vehement “_no_, Carmella, you absolute shithead,” before pressing against a cold stucco wall. “Why the fuck would you even bring that up? Are you _trying_ to solidify the end of our friendship?”

An ill-intentioned rhetorical question, as it was solidified about… an hour and a half ago.

“Really? Not even a little?” The slant in her smile and the sparkle in her eyes convey a level of enjoyment that you find immensely insulting.

Adding to that, her blatant disregard of the latter half of your statement; none of her signals are lost on you. _"I’ll read a book about it,”_ you follow emphatically, “listen, you killed that man. You’ve _fucked us._ I don’t even know why you think we’re important enough to go to Guantanamo. We’re not getting out of this.”

At her attempt to shift away, you’re quick to grab the back of her jumpsuit and use every ounce of strength in your possession to slam her against the selfsame wall you’ve been occupying. The action causes that infuriating smile to slip from her lips. Good. “Do you… do you not understand the gravity of our situation? This joke of yours? Not the original. _This one_. We’re dead because of it.”

It was alarming when the two of you arrived outside the facility gates, just opposite of a few hundred-thousand other people, but her commitment to the joke was humorous enough. But when she’d shoved the barrel of a gun to your sternum at your objection to entering; obviously it had been taken too far.

That smile returns, now mocking. “See, this is why I need you.” She giggles, staring intently into your eyes. “You’re always so… _down to earth,” _her giggling gradually builds as she appreciates her own joke, until, suddenly, it tapers off abruptly, and her face has lost all goodwill it once had, deep grimace marring her lips.

“But right now, I need you to shut the fuck up and stop being so _goddamn chickenshit._ We’ve got work to do, and you’re wasting time. If we’re so dead, why’re you still afraid? Woman the fuck up, and do want I need you to do.” Her hand lifts to press against your chest, both a warning and command, you realize. “How about it, Navigator?”

And your rage boils, coursing uninhibited through your veins along with the revulsion you direct not only at her but at yourself. Because of course you've let yourself get caught in a situation like this. Always so cautious, but never around a _friend. _“Hang left here, left down the first intersection, then an immediate right, straight for about a kilometer. There’s a mantrap directly before the elevator. Biometric.” You respond, tightlipped whilst adjusting your ski-mask. “Good fucking luck.”

_\---_

You don’t think of yourself as a bad judge of character; you don’t like to, anyway.

But, well, maybe it’s time to start being more truthful toward yourself.

You’re a good person.

A good person that just so happens to make stupid fucking decisions on occasion.

Becoming friends with the type of person that now, apparently, lives and breathes solely to take advantage of people like you, for example.

“Carmella.”

Thinking it wise not to touch the thankfully alive, yet unconscious men lying before you, you simply stare, vacant. Attempting to gather yourself, attempting to come up with some kind of plan. Because, while you’re hoping that Carmella has a plan drawn up, she’s _unreliable, unpredictable, and dangerous._

When had those become the descriptors you used for her? Before you moved, she was Carmella, your best friend who you could _always count on having your back._

At her muffled, murmured response, your eyes move from the victims to scan the surrounding area composed of label-less metal containers situated around and atop massive industrial shelves. Time is of the essence, and she’s been wandering around this warehouse for too many minutes. “What are you looking for?” You ask offhand, a single question loaded with many more.

What are we here for? What here is so important to you that you would draw a gun on your supposed “best friend?”

What have you killed me for?

She says something, no less incomprehensible than the first response.

And when you ask again, she responds again, louder.

“There’s supposed… they said…” But she still goes back and forth between speaking clearly and mumbling.

You hadn’t noticed before, but there is a ringing, somewhere in the background.

“… I don’t know—" Carmella says.

Then the ringing blares suddenly, muting whatever else is said and you stumble back, trying to catch yourself, caught off-guard by the sudden bout of vertigo. Is it the sting of your back colliding with metal rackets, or the unexpected choking sensation that brings tears to your eyes? Maybe the sweltering bile stuck in your throat?

You don’t know.

But what you _do_ know, is that those were not the string of words you needed to hear.

_She doesn’t know?_

_You’re going to die and she—_

You’ve been hyperventilating, you realize, vision tunneling. So, as you scramble to sit on the concrete floor and scoot back to lean against cold shelf legs, you place a hand on your lower stomach and focus on breathing. One breath every five seconds.

In.

_1…_

Somehow, you’ve infiltrated a top-secret government facility with your psychotic, now former friend.

_2…_

And, though the two of you are concealed head to toe, there is evidence of what has gone down. The assault, the death.

_3…_

Breaking and entering a top-secret government facility, being made an accomplice to murder.

_4…_

She made use of your memorization skills, held you at gunpoint until you remembered the layout.

_5._

You’ve let this woman kill you,_ and she doesn’t even know what she’s looking for._

Out.

You need to move.

For a fleeting moment, your mind goes to the unconscious soldier’s holstered gun. She can’t plausibly see him from where she is now, so you can reach him unnoticed. Then it comes down to whether or not you can hurt Carmella. Can you so easily mimic her movements and press the nozzle of a gun to her chest? Or head?

Can you kill Carmella?

The wound positioning would need to reflect the struggle in order for it to look convincing. Camera footage would surely be more of an issue.

…

No.

You’ll find another way.

**You have to.**

It takes all you have to stand, fatigue eating away at your will. But once you do, and your legs have stopped trembling, a moment is taken to study the security badge that has recently come into your possession, then the surrounding area in hopes of forming some semblance of a plan. With shelves upon shelves stocked full of odd-looking materials, surely you’d be hard-pressed not to come up with something. Proper knowledge of everything around may be nigh nonexistent, but you’re not lacking for common sense— that thought bids bitter laughter to bubble up— and creativity.

But.. what of the repercussions? Of touching something entirely incomprehensible on your end? Of one misstep that consequentially leads to mutilation? Or a signal? Or an explosion?

During these deliberations, you catch a glimpse of Carmella, her visage twisted into one of intrigued glee. Trepidation is nonexistent in every move she makes as she rifles through an open container.

How nice it must be, to not doubt.

The sight encourages wrath to claw at your chest, preventing you from worrying over the pressure building in your jaw, or the sting of nails digging into your palms. And it’s the undeniable feeling of tears trailing down your cheeks that bid you act, thoughtlessly moving to try the badge on the nearest door with an access control pad. Carmella says something, but you don’t bother trying to comprehend it, wordlessly pushing the door open and stepping through.

It is not until you’ve descended the stairs that immediately follow and have gone through the second heavy door, hearing it click shut, thus shrouding you in darkness, that you breathe in deeply, an attempt to acquire calm. Then you realize how stiflingly cold the room is. And that the only visible thing in the room is a single, dim, flickering red light.

But… so what?

You pay the observations no mind beyond their initial discovery, of course, focusing solely on curbing your anger and running a hand along the nearest wall in search of a light switch. When one isn’t found, it is with great censure that you slump against the door, sliding down until your bottom finds the floor once more. And for the next few moments, all is silent as you begin, once again, to realize that you don’t have a plan and that maybe… waiting to be found and killed is your best bet.

Or perhaps **you** should—

The rattling of chains, subtle by nature but deafening within the once silent, formerly thought empty room, snatch your attention by the neck and force it to look.

The red light… it isn’t so dim anymore, nor is it flickering.

No, it burns bright now, intense and angry enough to illuminate the source, allowing you to make out the features of the… skull it resides in. Lack of osteological knowledge aside, you’re sure that it isn’t one of man or animal. Not one that has been identified, anyway. Which leaves… monster? Or extraterrestrial. And, given the area…

These thoughts, however, do not dismiss the constant fear.

If only it were so easy to counter the fear of being deep within a top-secret facility in a darkened room accompanied by rattling chains and a skull with a burning red light nestled in its left socket, with some semblance of curiosity and humor.

The rattling becomes louder, followed by the distinct sound of chains jerking quickly. Leading your back to thump harshly against the door behind in response as you scramble to stand.

“… On your left…”

The pain comes back to your jaw at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, your brain struggling to come up with a reasonable response to the hoarse comment. But just when you open your mouth to speak, the voice sounds again with a nettled: “lights.”

You’re not keen on moving your eyes away from the thing against the opposite wall, despite its comments. It seems to feel the same way, watching as you stand and slide a shaking hand to your left, along the wall.

It occurs to you then, that you’re defenseless.

Maybe its karma, being killed by some unknown entity in Area 51. A place you have no business being in. You’ve always been curious about the base, yes, but who hasn’t?

It’s better to die to this… thing, rather than other humans. Right?

Maybe it wouldn’t leave your body behind and you’d never be identified.

Fingers running along the recognizable device that you’d so foolishly missed before; you reach and place the badge against it.

The overhead lights shoot to life.

Temporarily blinded, you flinch away, moving to shield yourself from their onslaught. Much akin to a cave-dwelling goblin, only active during the wee hours of the morn and sitting in wait for the rest of its guild members to get online so the raid can begin.

What you see when you recover… isn’t as surprising as you’d thought it would be.

Finally, temporarily, curiosity takes place of fear.

Humanoid in shape with its limbs chained to both the wall and ground, it sits with its back against the wall. What you initially thought was a skull… well, you suppose it does have one, but while it’s face does have similar aspects of a human’s endoskeleton – exposed sockets, a visible nasal cavity, etc.— there are dissimilarities. Its maxilla and mandible do not openly show teeth, proving that there is some kind of makeshift ‘skin.’

Absentmindedly, you wonder if the fractures running up its right socket, and down it’s left were acquired before, or after it’s capture. The one on the right looks particularly severe, running up along its skull before splitting and tapering off.

Beyond its head, you can’t tell much more about its physiology. As the rest of it is clad in tattered clothing; loafers, gloves, slacks, and a turtleneck shirt fitted under a trench coat. All of which seem to be all that it has worn for some time, given their condition. Was it masquerading as human when it was caught? Maybe as someone working in academia?

At this point, you’re sure that you’ve been staring for far longer than you’ve intended, so you endeavor to say something. “…Thank you.”

...

Well, that’s _something_. It’s a low utterance that feels somewhat detached, but you do mean it. It didn’t _have_ to tell you about the lights.

Its stare is intense as it sits, saying nothing, warily watching you watch it. As if you’re the predator in this situation.

Just as your heart-rate starts to calm, it speaks again.

“Th’fuck’re you doin’ here?” It’s a simple, reasonable question.

One that —once you’re over the initial shock— brings a wry smile to your lips, and it’s only then that you break eye contact with the creature, your eyelids sliding shut. Maybe to replay today’s events. Maybe to keep the tears at bay. “That… is a very good question.” Obviously, it isn’t as amused by the question as you are, given its... less than impressed expression.

“Bad decisions.” You try again, then hesitantly follow it with: “Why… are _you_ here?”

That brings what you assume is a grin to its face. The barest pull of its ‘lips’ revealing a glimpse of the sharp incisors within its mouth. “Heh, yeah,” it says, voice so low and rough that it is almost growling, _“bad decisions.”_

Given that neither of you is willing to explain yourselves, you do naught but nod, a small awkward grin playing at your lips.

It’s odd, finding some semblance of a rapport with the potentially dangerous creature chained in Area 51’s basement.

What do you say to an alien after finally meeting one?

“So, uh… how many people have you killed?” You ask, fighting the urge to grimace. Because, really, _that’s_ what you ask?

It smiles then, big and wide, revealing the full set of sharp teeth settled in its maw in what you’re sure is a play at your obvious discomfort.

Maybe it does that because it feels that you’re just as much of a threat as you think it is. A warning, perhaps?

Maybe it’s just an asshole. Simply basking in your somewhat self-imposed fear.

Its legs, anchored heavily to the ground, raise slightly at the knee and cause the chains to rattle once more. Then the light within its socket snuffs out and its maw slowly opens, serrated teeth pulling apart what you assume is an effort to speak— funny, you don’t remember it needing to do so in order to speak before.

Instinctively, you press back further against the door, as if the action will somehow protect you from the unknown danger this thing presents. And, just as you summon up the acuity to reach for the door handle behind, a deafening bang against said door has you flinching away and your eyes snapping shut.

Then you hear your name being called on the other side. It’s Carmella’s voice, you realize, slumping against the door. Eyes opening, a wave of anxiety-riddled embarrassment washes over you at the sight of the creature’s face; the light back within its socket as it smiles heartily at you, shoulders bouncing while it quietly _laughs_.

Carmella begins pushing the door open, and you’re quick to move away from it, stumbling further into the room and turning as she enters.

“What’re you doing?” She says with a scoff as if you wandering off causes her trouble. “Find anything?”

Hackles rising, your brow is marred deeply by a frown. You want to spit and hiss in response to the question she has so _boldly_ thrown in your direction.

But, of course, Carmella speaks again before you do. “What—“she gasps, staring just past your side with wide eyes, “is... is that an alien? Monster?”

Saying nothing, you simply watch, stepping aside as she approaches uninhibited. And when she reaches to touch it, you almost instinctively reach to stop her.

Almost.

“What are you,” Carmella asks whilst reaching towards the creature’s face, not so much as flinching as it jerks as far away from her hand as possible, which isn’t very far at all, “there’s no way it’s a monster. Why would the military be storing a monster?”

When she looks your way, you realize the last question was directed at you, and you give an irate shrug. “I don’t know, let me go ask.” With a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head, you scoff, “fuck you, Carmella.”

She laughs at that. “It’s gotta be an alien. Wonder what it can do.” It’s a comment thrown casually to the room as she runs a hand along its torso, just under the breast of its coat. “Bet it’ll sell for a royal fuckton.” Carmella sounds giddy at the prospect.

And that, well, that gives you pause. “Excuse me?” You exclaim, incredulous, furious, disgusted. “I’m sorry, is that what you came here for? To participate in the slave trade?” Stalking over to her, you snatch her wrist just as it is about to sink a finger into the creature’s empty socket. “Are you _fucking kidding_?”

“Is it slave-trading if what you're trading isn’t human?” Carmella continues, not giving you so much as a glance.

And you just… can’t take it anymore.

When you release Carmella’s wrist, it is a harsh movement doubling as a shove that moves her enough to allow your body to fit between her and the creature’s. _“Yes.”_ You state emphatically, staring her down with a snarl playing on your lips. “You—” the absurdity of the situation has laughter bubbling in your throat, “you did _not_ bring me here to participate in slavery.” Carmella’s eyes flit down, watching as your fingers tap rapidly against your thigh.

“What’s your name?” You ask the creature, quickly turning to look at it over your shoulder.

When it doesn’t answer immediately, Carmella sighs. “It probably doesn’t even speak—” She takes a step forward as she says this, and is taken aback when you do the same, seemingly intent on acting as some make-shift shield.

“G.” It says, cutting her off.

You don’t miss a beat, breathing in and releasing your response in one quick breath. “G, we _are not _selling you.” It is a statement said after you’ve turned back toward Carmella with squared shoulders and intense eye contact.

Carmella’s gaze never falters, eyes squinting as her head tilts gradually.

Another loud bang resounds then, from the room above, followed by heavy footsteps and muffled commands.

Surprisingly, Carmella is the first to step away whilst spitting a curse. “I hope you’re _happy_, “ she whispers, pacing around the room.

Oh, now she’s mad?

**What the fuck did she expect?**

Her agitation brings you a modicum of pleasure, you realize, watching her pace and twitch. This must be how she feels when watching people that she has caused trouble for.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d been useful and helped me look,” Carmella whispers harshly, whirling on you.

Scoffing, you flip her off before whispering back, “when I asked you what you wanted, you told me you didn’t know.”

“I knew I should have picked someone else.” Turning away, Carmella dismisses you with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, did you know? Is that why you forced me down here?” You’re quick to move into her bubble, a snarl of a smile playing on your lips at her telegraphed irritation. “What’s the matter? Not prepared to die? Did you think you would get all the way down here, and _not_ die?"

She grabs you by the collar, clearly done with your sass. “I was giving you an opportunity, you—”

“Hey.”

The vicious whispering that you and Carmella participate in comes to a halt at the voice that rings loud and clear, soon turning to stare at its owner.

G grunts whilst sitting up a bit straighter. “You two gonna stand there an’ bitch at each other or are ‘ya gonna shuttup and lemme tell ‘ya how ‘ta get outta this?”

After staring at G in shock for a moment longer, Carmella gives a bark of derisive laughter. “Yeah, cause the chained fucker that’s been down here for God knows how long, is going to get us out.” She then moves closer to G, squatting whilst smiling all the wider. “Why would you help us anyway, huh? I just threatened to sell you, and now you wanna help. You think I’m stupid?”

That single red light rolls from Carmella to you, and you assume G is waiting for some assistance on your end, but… while you loathe to admit it… “She’s right,” you sigh, dejected.

G surprises the both of you again by revealing what you equate to eyelids; their sockets shutting as they chuckle.

“Yeah,” G says, eyes open again and red light bright, “I think you’re stupid; most of you humans are.” Those sharp teeth are once again revealed as G grins. “Listen, you can think you’re gonna die to me— hell, I might actually kill ‘ya, if I feel up to it,” that grin widens as Carmella’s growl of disapproval, “or… or you can definitely die to them. Either way, you don’t have much time, so you better figure out what the fuck you’re gonna do.”

You can hear the first door open, footsteps stomping heavily on each step.

Having already made your decision, you can’t understand why Carmella is taking so long to make hers.

“What’s your plan, G?” You blurt.

Both Carmella and G turn to look at you, their expressions vastly different.

“In the corner of the room, on your right, there’s a metal cube with a combination keypad on the back. Use the badge and hit two, seven, two, one, seven, six, six, zero.”

Ignoring Carmella’s aggressive whispers of your name, you turn to look for the item. It’s easy to find, what with the room being largely empty save for G and a couple of nasty looking tools you’re sure have been used on your new acquaintance.

“Be quick about it, doll.” G’s voice rings amongst the rattling of chains.

Were you in less of a hurry, you would have commented on the given command, but with the surprisingly compact cube within your hands and you being two numbers from the last, you decide against it. Choosing instead to finish the sequence and rush back towards G and Carmella. “Now what?”

Carmella presses back against the nearest wall, eyeing the door silently.

You’ve only just noticed that there was once a faint whirring in the room that has now stopped. Curiously, you examine the cube. Physically, it gives no indication that it has stopped operation, but you assume the humming once came from it.

Now all you can hear are the soldiers accessing the badge scanner on the other side of the door.

The shattering of chains rings loud within the room just as the doors are pushed open, then the shouting of commands starts, and your body goes rigid.

Shaken to the core by the inevitability of a rough manhandling and death —the latter of which you thought yourself over— you can do naught but follow the first command you hear and raise your hands.

When the shouting rises in volume and you can no longer parse what is being said, the shaking begins; starting in your hands, making its way up your arms and burrowing within your abdomen before dispersing in throughout the entirety of your being.

Standing is proving to be difficult once again, even more so when you’re wrenched to the side and are sent staggering into the surprisingly sturdy side of your new companion. At the moment you look up, dumbstruck and overwhelmed with fear, G appears downright vicious.

There is a type of delight that isn’t so hidden within their wide, sharp sneer that offsets the frown deeply marring their brow. And it unnerves you, forcing you to understand that you’ve just released someone you have absolutely no knowledge about and could potentially wreak havoc upon the world; all because you aren’t quite ready to die so soon.

It’s funny because there is no guarantee that you still won’t.

Quickly, G throws an arm around your shoulders and leans just as heavily on you as you are on them. “Hang on, doll,” is the last thing you hear clearly as you watch G snatch Carmella’s wrist – much like you did before and just as harsh- before vantablack consumes your vision.

The phenomenon that follows can be likened to vertigo, yet it is so much more than the dizzying sensation of falling. It is being pulled from every direction while simultaneously having the steady pressure of some unseen force being applied constantly. And for it to accompany the, hopefully temporary, loss of your vision, you’ve no idea how to acclimate.

Then, just when you begin to feel that it is too much and your eyes hurt from being clenched shut, and your scream starts to weave its way between your gritting teeth, it is over.

Sandblasted walls greet you once you finally manage to open your eyes, the very same assailant of the walls blows swiftly into your face not seconds later, causing you to squint and instinctively turn further into G’s hold. Grateful for the mask encompassing your head, you breathe in greedily, not realizing that you weren’t doing so previously.

“What… the fuck was that?” Carmella asks between breaths, apparently just as deprived as you.

G, while looking almost as disheveled though not nearly as distressed as the two of you, casts her a cursory glance. “Stop wasting time asking questions and get us out of here.” G growls back, grunting whilst leaning further on you.

Whatever that was, it was G’s doing, and it obviously took its toll on them. At this point, you’re just a group of strugglers. Alive, but still on the premises.

Breathless laughter permeates Carmella’s uttered goad, “what, was that it for your plan?” Then she does something that makes your blood run cold and your hand you hadn’t realized was grasping the front of G’s ratty coat, clutch it much harder.

She pulls a concealed pistol from the waistband of her pants.

Your close proximity to G allows for you to feel the growl that resonates within their chest and the tensing of their body. Primed, ready to attack regardless of whatever injuries or ailments affect them.

You’re not exactly sure how G freed themself, having been engrossed in the device and then… panicking, but you’re sure that G has every intention of reenacting the scene. With Carmella playing the chains. She realizes this, surely, but is confident enough in her ability to wield a gun, probably believing that, at the very least, she’ll be able to enact vengeance.

And you, understanding that the situation has already escalated too much but are caught between their standoff, and absolutely tired of Carmella always going out of her way to prompt the unnecessary heightening of circumstances, cast a hasty glance to the heavens and hiss, “Carmella, have the keys ready. G,” then you stall, loathe to ask but having your will to live out way any discomfort, “can you… can you do— whatever that was, can you do it again?”

G’s stare perfectly conveys how irritable they are about the situation, but otherwise gives no answer.

Carmella shuffles closer to the wall, slipping just out of the sight of a soldier. “I’m not going through that again.” She whispers hastily.

Sure, the experience was an uncomfortable one and it’s understandable that she wouldn’t want to go through it again.

However.

“Do you have another plan? Because if you do, I’m all ears. But if you don’t, you can just give me the keys,” you shoot back with venom on your tongue, “give me the keys and die here alone.” This response diverts her standoff with G and reignites the one between the two of you.

A grin pulls at her lips as she looks down her nose at you. “It’s cute how you think you can make it out of here without me. “

“I’m sorry,“ you say, snorting derisively, “what exactly are you bringing to this situation that makes you important enough not to leave behind?

You really shouldn’t goad her, you know you shouldn’t. But she still hasn’t offered up an alternative, so her declining the use of G's ability is truly just for the sake of doing so.

Wind whirrs loudly, violently, not quite drowning out the far off shouted commands nor the ominous growls of Praga trucks.

G’s voice, however, cuts through it all. “Not far,” G says, deep and gravelly and grave, “I’ve got enough for one more, but not far.”

That leaves you wondering what G considers “not far,” given that they just… _teleported_ three people upward from a basement that was nearly a mile and a half underground.

Relaxing your hand, which had formed into a fist, you release G’s coat, absentmindedly patting that very same spot as you nod. “… Alright, alright— can you walk?”

At the question, G scoffs, that single red light rolling before he sets you with an irate glower. “Don’t mistake my wantin’ to touch you for being weak.”

It… takes you a moment to comprehend what was said and to respond. But when you do, it’s with a bark of stifled laughter, head bowed and hand slapped over your mouth as you lean forward and rest your forehead on G’s shoulder.

The reaction is unconventional, you think, but you blame it on the suddenness of the comment, as well as the situation as a whole taking its toll on your psyche. Of all the things you’d expected to happen tonight, you _hadn’t_ expected an alien to throw a flirtatious reprimand your way.

It is undeniably a cover-up for their current state of enervation brought on by recent circumstances, but the absurdity of it is too much. How can this alien make flirty comments while being so close to recapture and potential death?

Pulling away, you give a shake of your head, smile much too wide for the situation. “Sh-shit G, you’re right,” you say between subsiding giggles, “sorry.”

G looks at you with a small grin now, unperturbed by your outburst.

You can’t quite make out Carmella’s expression. But she’s seemed to have let the subject of using G’s weird warping ability drop for now.

“Okay” breathing deeply, you pull away completely whilst standing, “let’s go.”

\---

Sneaking around the base level of Area 51 is made less difficult when one has got various other civilians running around as loud, somewhat crazed distractions.

Less difficult, however, does not mean easy. Because how could sneaking around a government facility— currently on high alert—ever be _easy._

Moreover, word of the escaped alien that was previously under lockdown has surely spread by now and G is very easily recognizable.

So, of course, the lot of you are almost caught, forced to run with soldiers at your heels. It would be a wonder why they haven’t shot yet, but you can only assume they want G, who is bringing up the rear, alive. Or that they haven’t yet been authorized to shoot. Even if, unbeknownst to them, one of the civilians is armed.

Fire within your lungs and sand in your eyes, you’re grateful for the sight in front of you. There, large and chaotic and absolutely perfect is a crowd.

“G, Carmella,” you rasp between breaths, hoping you’re heard, “the street after the one coming up, hang left. From there, the car is north, about fifteen feet away, on the other side of the wall—“ The rest of your instructions are cut off as the burly body of a man wearing a tinfoil hat slams into your shoulder, knocking you off-kilter.

You’re as prepared as you can be, hands shooting out in front of you in order to brace against sand dusted concrete. You aren’t, however, prepared for the clothed hand that grasps your wrist, nor the leather-clad one that grasps the back of your shirt, both steadying and dragging you in the proper direction.

“If you’re going to take control, don’t make stupid mistakes,” Carmella calls over her shoulder. You’re sure that if her gloves weren’t as thick as they are, you would feel her nails purposefully digging into your wrist.

“Keep it movin’, sweetheart.” Comes G’s voice as they hastily push you, body much closer than anticipated. Then, deciding that you haven’t adjusted quickly enough, G moves to your side, hand still on your back, guiding. The motion allows you a slight view of G and the way they duck their head a bit, somewhat turtling into the upturned collar of their coat.

Once the three of you make it to the corner and turn onto the street, you immediately backtrack, pushing back into the crowd to regroup. Because of course the streets are heavily barricaded.

Carmella sends you an unnecessarily coarse once over.

“Uh…” you start, contemplating, “there.” With the barest jerk of your head, you’re off, running toward, then into the alley just before that same street, surprised yet pleased by its lack of guards.

And when you see fire escape stairs that lead to the roof, you plan on taking them, but first… “Carmella!” You bark whilst crouching down with interlocked fingers in front of you.

She catches on immediately, running and launching herself off of you and onto the latter, quickly climbing and unlatching it before continuing upward, you and G on her tail.

Once at the top, you’re quick to scuttle along the walls of the rooftop entrance, gazing past the base walls in search of the car. Then you spot the rock formation concealing it, hoping beyond all hope that it isn’t too far away. “G, there!” Hastily, you grab G’s arm, pulling them close and pointing. “If you can get us in that general area, the one with the spikey rock formation just north of the water tower…”

G’s grimace is as deep as ever when you look up.

You stand, watching, waiting for them to say something, anything, preferably a confirmation, but nothing comes.

Instead, you get the sound of a semiautomatic slider being racked.

Tilting your head, you watch as Carmella retreats until her back collides with yours, gun pointed steadily in the direction of two soldiers, their hands hovering just over their own guns.

“Hurry,” Carmella growls through clenched teeth whilst slipping her free hand into yours, “up.“

Turning away from her, your eyes slide towards the car, then up at G.

Noting that their expression hasn’t changed, your eyes turn one last time toward the car before slipping shut.

Is it better or worse to have gotten it this far, only to still end up stuck?

Either way, guess this is it. You… kind of wish they’d shoot and save you from the inevitable interrogations.

“Hold on.”

Your eyes snap open, catching the briefest glimpse of florescent lighting before all is, yet again, black.

\---

When you come to, parts of you hurt from being pressed into rocks for too long and you’re sure you’ve been pressed so heavily on them because of a certain woman lying haphazardly across your back.

Still a bit disoriented, you slowly shamble from underneath her, pushing and shoving, occasionally nudging with your feet, all while grumbling for her to wake up. She does, eventually, grunting back while you survey your surrounding for your other companion.

You find G sprawled out not far away, unmoving and not responding to your call. So, when you stand and shuffle over and still receive no response, you’re a little worried. Maybe it really had been too much. You don’t know where to look for or how to check G’s vitals, but you can’t very well sit here and do nothing, choosing to start where you would with a human and checking for breathing. And G’s breathing… isn’t clearly broadcasted, the rise and fall seeming nonexistent, so you move closer, bracing G’s head while turning and lowering your own. If you can’t see it, maybe you can _feel_ it.

After a few moments pass, you finally get something. It’s… faint, but definitely there.

Shoulders sagging in relief, you turn, watching Carmella as she stands and makes way for the car while casting you a cursory glance. “Get it in the car.” She commands as if you weren’t already going to do so. Then she’s around the rock formation and starting the car, offing no help to get the six-foot-something alien into said car.

“G,” you rasp, moving a hand to their shoulder and shaking them gently, “G, I need you to get up.” G’s sockets remain closed and you get no response, so you shake harder, speak louder. “G, _please _get up.”

Finally, finally, G starts coming to, hand moving to their face and rubbing as it contorts into one resembling pain. “Stop, stop,” G growls, trying to shrug your hand away.

And you do, releasing G’s shoulder and moving to give them room. “I’m sorry. But you’ve gotta get up, we’re not done yet.”

G curses under their breath, struggling to sit up and growling at you when you attempt to help.

So, you stand, dusting yourself off and offering a hand when G finally manages to sit. “You just need to make it to the car. Alright?”

Were the lot of you not trying to move unnoticed, Carmella would surely be blowing the horn, you’re sure.

“C’mon,” you say when G takes your hand, using your combined strength to get them standing, “I got you.” G doesn’t seem particularly pleased about it, but you’re quick to force them to use you as support when needed.

The two of you steadily trek around the rocks to the sedan, and you can’t help but offer murmured words of encouragement to the exhausted alien. And while G may stumble and look on the verge of passing out, they never stop, not until you open the back door for them.

“Uh… hey, you’re not…” You pause, staring at that single red light sitting behind a half-lidded socket, “you’re not going to... die… if you pass out back there, are you?”

G makes an attempt to grin whilst giving a huff of laughter. “Nah.” And you want to, but who are you to deny G’s claim?

Nodding, you watch as G slides into the car, occupying both seats and bending their knees as you shut the door. When you slide into the passenger’s seat, G has always passed out, and Carmella’s fingers tap rapidly against the steering wheel.

The drive, surprisingly, goes smoothly in terms of you three not being stopped or found out. You and Carmella spend most of it in silence. G spends it sleeping.

Once closer to Vegas, Carmella pulls over and the two of you change into clothes that don’t scream “thief” or “murderer” or “alien smuggler.” And you do your best to stay awake throughout the rest of the drive. Who knows what Carmella will pull? You don’t, nor do you want to find out after waking up. But also understand that you haven’t much any other choice, given the circumstances.

So, when you do make it to a hotel room in Vegas sometime early morning, and you’re borderline delirious while helping G to a bed before plopping down beside them, and are struggling with yourself because you know that you can’t trust Carmella, but you also can’t stay up any longer.

The only thing giving you some semblance of calm is that she seems just as exhausted by the night’s events as you, quietly making her way to the other bed and collapsing onto it.

Your only hope, as you lie down and quickly lose yourself to sleep, is that both you and G have enough energy to defend yourselves, should anything happen.

\---

There’s… a rumbling, deep and strong, never constant for long, but constant enough to pull you from your slumber. As you slowly come to, the rumbling begins to morph, twisting into something intelligible, then recognizable enough that you groan, wondering why a conversation is happening. “You can try. Good luck.”

That… whose voice is that?

“I don’t _need_ luck.”

Carmella, that’s definitely Carmella’s voice. But how—isn’t she somewhere in Europe? Why—

Abruptly, everything within the last twenty-four hours comes flooding back, and waking quickly becomes an urgent necessity.

Hands swiftly moving to wipe your eyes, you shift further up the bed and rest your back against the headboard, eyes now open and doing their best to focus.

Carmella stands some few feet away at the hotel room desk, ever elegant and fashionably dressed, hair immaculate, looking nothing like someone that committed several crimes and was almost caught a handful of hours ago.

Or, well, maybe she does look the spitting image of someone that got away with it all. “Look who’s up.” She calls glibly as her nose wrinkles.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?”

The voice so close on your left startles you enough that you jump a little. Head snapping over toward the speaker, you’re surprised by the now familiar figure of G who rests just as casually on the headboard as you. Blinking, you kind of just… stare, jaw slightly dropping before, “I— I’m fine, holy shit, you’re real.” All of it happened, everything, the running and hiding, the murder, the captive alien…

G smirks, lifting a brow ridge. “What, you thought I was just the monster of your dreams?” G’s voice drops a staggering octave that sends you reeling. Or is that just you leaning away as G leans forward? “Turns out you’re right. I’m that guy.”

You’re at a bit of a loss momentarily, processing the whole ordeal. Did he really just? Ah, but he’s done that before. You’ll take the time to comprehend your mild, somewhat questionable attraction towards G another time. A smile creeps onto your lips as you shake your head, eyeing G owlishly. “Unbelievable. How are you _still_ flirting with me? And so _badly?”_ You’re not mad. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s nice, having a reason to laugh.

Wait.

“Wait, monster?” You ask, astonished.

“Monster?” Carmella asks, disappointed.

G looks every bit like the cat that got the canary.

“Just a monster. I put up with hundreds of naruto-running conspiracists for some bullshit _monster.” _Carmella stalks to the end of the bed you and G share, even gaze landing on G. “But one important enough to be chained in Area 51’s basement.”

Ah, that’s right. This isn’t just some guy flirting with you in a shared bed, this is some guy you released from a government facility who showed off a sinister smile when you asked how many people he’d killed, who clearly possesses powers beyond your understanding. Which brings you to: “Uh, hey, what… was that cube, exactly?” You turn further towards G, trying to piece what you can together. “Could you not get out of those chains with it on?”

No longer the smug cat, G simply stares ahead, looking completely and utterly bored.

You frown and tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze but fail due to it having been essentially snuffed out. “Was it some kind of magic suppressor?”

G's defiant silence extends far beyond Carmella’s acceptable limit and she sneers, deep and loathsome, clearly displaying her true feelings for him. Then, seething, she stalks over to the desk, grabs her phone and exits the room, all but slamming the door.

When you retreat from his space and sag against the headboard, that red light in his socket reignites and rolls over to look at you.

“Well,” you sigh, turning to meet his eye whilst grinning, “guess it… doesn’t really matter.” With that said, you stand, strolling into the bathroom and inspecting the complimentary amenities. “Either way, I need to take a shower, and you should probably leave before Carmella shows back up.”

Truth be told, G seems like any other guy you’ve met, personality-wise. His appearance is certainly different from any other monster you’ve seen, so… maybe that’s why he was captured; a rare monster to be studied. Furthermore, he doesn’t _seem_ to have any violent tendencies, so at least your interference in the situation wouldn’t put innocent people in harm.

Hopefully.

Regardless, you don’t regret freeing him. He’s the reason you’re not under arrest, or dead.

“By the way,” turning, you nearly drop the tiny shampoo and conditioner bottles, surprised to find him leaning nonchalantly against the wall just outside the bathroom with crossed arms, “thanks for the assist.”

He tilts his head to look at you over his shoulder and you smile. “Just, uh—please don’t turn out to be some psycho killer.”

G returns your smile, sharp teeth on display as he turns and enters the bathroom, moving to shove his hands into the pockets of his coat. “And what would you do if I was?”

You understand that he’s trying to intimidate you again. And it’s working. But you can’t let him in on that fact, so you stand just a bit straighter, keep eye contact with him as he stalks closer and towers over you.

“From what I can tell, you’re a shit judge of character, so you wouldn’t know if I was,” he chuckles, toothy grin taking on a condescending tilt, “and you have a penchant for hanging with people that can hurt you. So if I was, you’d still be here.”

G takes in your narrow-eyed frown and pursed lips and releases another chuckle whilst moving to run a skeletal claw along your jawline. It lacks the pressure to pierce your skin but crawls along hard enough that a shiver runs up your spine. It’s a wonder that his hands hadn’t torn through the gloves he’d worn previously.

“You’re smart, but you don’t have what it takes to hurt anybody. So, tell me, sweetheart,” he prompts, face moving close enough to yours that you can feel his breath on your lips, “if you can’t stop _Carmella,_ what in that pretty little head of yours makes you think that you’d have what it takes to stop _me?”_

The breath you take is shaky, and you hate yourself for it. “I could hurt you.” It… isn’t your best line. It is not intimidating or effective, it is not reasonable, it’s a stupid line that has the potential to put you in even more danger than you are already in.

“S’that right?” He drawls. His smile reaches his sockets now. “You promise?”

You’d never noticed before, but they’re underlined in red, the markings looking akin to the bag’s humans get under their eyes. “No, 'Killer’ isn’t a bullet on my resume,” you huff indignantly, “but monsterkind’s fragility and the ease of killing them are well-known topics.”

G’s growl of a laugh rolls deep, reverberating off of your fraying nerves. Your teeth catch the inside of your bottom lip.

“Some of us are no easier to kill than a human.” He states, very matter of fact. “You wanna kill me, you’re welcome to try.” His eye ligers on your lips, so you release the bottom one. At that, his gaze meets yours once more. “I’ll tell you like I told your bossy little friend: you can try.”

_This_ guy.

A frown makes its way onto your face and you place a hand on G’s chest, pushing. “Look, I’m not going to try to kill you and I never said anything about stopping you. I asked you not to be a psycho killer, but maybe I should have asked you not to be an insufferable jerk.” The action allows you to cop a feel of G’s physique and, though impeded by his shirt, you’re able to make out the sturdy, slightly uneven surface underneath. Almost like—

G moves back smoothly as if you hadn’t put any effort into the push.

Quite a significant amount was put into it.

“Doll, you can ask me not to kill an’ I might spare an asshole here or there,” he says, tone laced with laughter and nonchalance in his shrug, “but you askin’ me not to be a jerk is like askin’ humans to get rid of their petty prejudice and racism, or like askin’ Carmella not to come back into the hotel room armed with a pistol and a plan. Ain’t gonna happen. S’what I do best.”

You send him a blank stare, arms folding in front of you. “Don’t take pride in that.”

The look you receive from him tells you that he’s going to have even more pride in it now that you’ve told him not to.

The prick.

“You don’t know what to do with yourself.” G says, smug and so entirely out of left field that you’re left squinting up at him in confusion.

“Excuse me?” You feel like you should be offended but aren’t exactly sure on what basis.

“Trying so hard to be selfless,” it’s his turn to cross his arms, sharp teeth baring down at you as his smirk holds its place, “you’re doing everything you can to focus on me instead of your own shitty situation. When I’m gone, what’ll you do? You come up with a plan yet, pretty little pawn? I guarantee she has.”

Frown returning, you recoil and stare up at him, mouth primed to defend yourself, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“Your bluffs will only get you so far.” G laughs, raspy voice rising in pitch as he continues to condescend, crowding you once more. “So quick to act when someone else’ life is on the line, but when it’s just you, you stand around looking at tiny bars of soap.”

“What? I didn’t have time back at the— I’ve got enough time to figure this out now. I just haven’t done anything yet because you decided to roll up and be an asshole.” Well, partially because you’ve been busy dealing with him, and partially because you aren’t expected her to act so soon. Which is… foolish on your part.

How _are_ you going to get away from Carmella? She’s not likely to drop you until you cease being useful to her. She knows where you live, where you work— her connections are too vast, you don’t know where or how to begin.

“You can hear ‘em, can’t you?”

Yes, you can absolutely hear the heavy, rapidly approaching footfalls of whom you can only assume are Carmella’s henchmen. They may be soldiers or policemen, but you wouldn’t bet on those odds.

“Ask me for help.” G commands, smile gone.

“What, why—no, I—” Where the hell is this coming from?

“Whatever time you thought you had is gone, sweetheart. I’m giving you an out. You can stand here and think about it, or you can take it. Make a decision.”

You almost can’t hear him over how loud your heartbeat is in your ears. “Why do you care? You’re free, just go and—"

“Do it.” G insists. “Do it, now!” The sheer power behind his voice has you flinching back.

“I don’t—” If you ask him for help, what will he want in return? You may end up just as shackled to him as you are Carmella.

You blink, and he’s gone. Not a trace of him left within the confines of the bathroom.

A violent sense of déjà vu overcomes you and you suck in a swift breath through your teeth at the sound of the hotel room door bursting open and slamming into the wall.

Since Carmella came back into your life, it has been nothing but panic and death. You were so happy to see her again, to reconnect with your silly childhood friend, so happy that she’d bloomed into the woman she’d always wanted to be, so proud of her. You were just happy to be with her again. But she had to bring all of this—

And now…

You can hear Carmella’s voice beyond the ruckus of her men. Cool, composed, detached.

Nothing like she used to be.

“…Please help me, G.” You ask, not entirely sure why you’re willing to trust him at all.

He may turn out to be as bad as Carmella, but…

G reappears in front of you in that instant, cheshire grin is as wide and wild as ever. His eye akin to a red dwarf star as it sits bloated within the vantablack darkness of his orbit, and when he gives a full-bodied laugh fused with a growl, you somehow feel like you’ve just struck a deal with the devil.

And when he turns from you with a flourish of his coat and your wrist locked within his sharp hand, and the bathroom archway revealing burly, suit-clad men with guns poised at the two of you, you feel the gravity of the situation sink in when large, stark white, pike-like objects spring from the hotel room floors and said men are jerked down onto them. Then you try to pull away, to run from the one-sided violence and the confusion of what just happened, but G’s hold is hard and heavy and he pulls you in the direction opposite your escape; to the bathroom archway, toward the chaos. Towards the bleeding pile of men and the shocked pile of men just beyond who take steps back to remedy the steps that G takes forward. And as he moves, so to do you, not cognizant enough to fully understand everything that rapidly unfolds, but cognizant enough to avoid stepping in the pooling blood and leaving footprints.

But you’ve been in the room for several hours; your prints could be anywhere.

Could be everywhere.

At the very least, they’re in the bathroom, on the nightstand, in the— Your DNA is all over the fucking bed.

“…Stop…” Speaking hurts, your throat feels too tight. “Stop, G— Stop!” Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve latched onto his waist in your attempt to get him to listen, to keep him from advancing any further.

Then you stall.

And your call for a cease and desist goes unheard by both parties because a gun fires and that somewhat frustratingly familiar filling of G’s weird, magical teleportation ability takes over and now not only are you distraught over the escalated situation as a whole, but also over the fact that you’ve learned that almost the entirety of G’s body is skeletal and you’ve just wound an arm around what feels his spinal cord –assuming his anatomy parallels a human’s— and ribcage, and that he grunts in what you assume is pain at your action right before another pike springs from the floor at an angle and impales the shooter with terrifying accuracy, and that you’ve no longer got your gravity centered so you’re unable to form whatever else you were going to say, allowing for so much more to happen.

So now, while you cling to G as he continues to use that disorienting ability back to back and creates this… magnificently horrific crime scene that you’re likely to be prosecuted for, your minds races in hopes of finding some stability whilst simultaneously reaching for the ability to come up with some kind of strategy to get you out of this tragedy and you can’t—

“G, stop wasting your magic a-and get us out of here.” It’s such a quiet, puny plea, and the fact that G can hear you over the gunshots is amazing. The fact that he listens is even more so.

Next he has taken you outside of the room, far down the hall, and he’s sweating, collapsed onto the dirty carpet with you huddled at his side, and there are people running to and from rooms in a frenzied panic caused by multiple gunshots, because as common as it is, no one is prepared for a mass shooting. Then the anger and disgust set further in because these people are suffering because of the woman you’d once deemed a friend. The woman who didn’t give a second thought to having her people openly fire at the monster by whom you stood. Because fuck your safety, right?

The very same woman that you warily watch from the doorway of the hotel room you once occupied, sees you watching and stares back coldly as she orders her people out of the room and after you.

And you grit your teeth because no, you haven’t given up.

And fuck both of them for thinking you have.

“Get up,” you hiss quickly as you shakily follow your own command, “G, get up, now!”

When he doesn’t do so quickly enough, you grab his wrist and pull until he does, then you’re off, running up the stairs with him in tow.

Carmella’s eruptive roar of “fucking stop them!” instills the will to continue running even though your body protests to the nth-degree to stop, just fucking stop, please. Because you’re not an athlete in any sense of the word and running for any prolonged amount of time is a struggle.

G too seems to be of the same mindset as he struggles to keep up, but with the thugs so close, does what he must. “What’s your,” he tries between breaths, “plan?”

You’d scoff if you had the energy to. “Same plan—"

Of course, no amount of insistence can help either of you when a man with the actual ability of an athlete catches up and snatches the tail of G's coat. Obstinance, however, goes a long way when you tumble back with G and take notice of the gun in the man’s hand, thankful that you have the reach to position it just far away enough to miss its target. Its blast, however, doesn’t miss its assault on your eardrum, thus disorienting the fuck out of you.

G repays the man’s deed with a thick pike through the chest and deep sneer then turns towards you, hand shooting out to steady and guide you onward at the necessary pace. When G pulls you away from the man, “roof” is all you can give him in terms of instruction because talking under the current circumstances is just a no-go.

Thankfully he seems to catch on and gradually ports the two of you further up the stairs and away from your pursuers, which helps with the getaway, but not with your permanency so you end up slowing down a bit.

The action isn't fully counterproductive, because now you’re at least four flights ahead, but you wonder if he’ll have enough energy left to safely get the two of your out of this; this is a fifty-floor building.

Your question of his energy level becomes somewhat mute as when the door to the roof proves locked, he applies enough pressure behind his kick to break the door and pull you through.

Well, the dizziness and ringing brought in by the gunshot are gone. Now they’ll be brought back by this god-awful heat. At a high of one-hundred-three degrees fahrenheit, Vegas’ weather is not, nor has ever been a joke and you can feel it all the more at this height. Not a cloud in sight, the sun beats down upon you as you struggle to keep from hyperventilating whilst walking as far from the broken door as possible.

“Same plan.” You iterate and breathe slow, sparing G a meaningful yet withering glance. “You have it in you?”

Doubled over himself, he’s struggling but still manages a grin. “Your plans’re fuckin’ stupid.”

You’re only slightly offended, his stupid little grin is contagious and you return it. He’s not wrong. “I don’t— I don’t see you coming up with anything better, prick.”

“Killin’ ‘em all was pretty straight forward,” he deadpans, “you run too much.”

You’ve actually caught your breath enough to laugh. “Oh, shut—“ Another gunshot rings and you drop, pulling G with you.

He huffs at the sudden movement and pulls you closer. A quick body check is done, and you can only hope that it’s accurate and that you’re not in too much of a shock to notice a wound. “G?”

He doesn’t look at you. “M’fine.”

So you follow his gaze to the doorway.

And there Carmella stands, arm extended high above her head, gun in hand, finger on the trigger.

A warning shot.

You wish that fact was enough to put you at ease, just a little.

Carmella stalks forward, backed by her men, and spits your name with a level of vitriol you’ve never heard from her before.

You can hear sirens. Faint but present.

Slowly, you stand, as does G, and for every step she takes you both retreat. Closer and closer to the ledge.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She’s out of breath too, but endeavors to speak, to reprimand you. “I need you to understand how tired I am of your shit. How many passes have I given you?” Your silence seems to enrage her even more.

“Too many. I’ve given you…_ too many_. You had one job, and that was to do what you were told. You’ve always been good at that— so why now do you go against that wonderful trait of yours, hm?”

When the back of your foot hits the ledge, G steadies you and tenses. You know that he's ready and raring to use that spike trick on her.

“Wait. Don’t—" You whisper, turning your head but keeping your eyes on Carmella. “Please don’t kill her.”

“You’re sure askin’ for a lot.” He rumbles.

Carmella’s arm drops just enough, allowing her to point her gun at you. Just you. You know it. “Do I need to hurt you? I was giving you special treatment, but maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should treat you the way I treat them, huh?” Her head tilts her head back, towards her men. “Teach you how to respect me?”

You try to be subtle when you reach for G’s hand.

And you fail.

Carmella takes notice, and she is not pleased by the display.

"Are—“ She scoffs, laughing, “Are you _kidding_ me?“ Then she has the gall to have hurt flash across her face before she sneers. “So this is how it’s gonna be? You’re doing all of this because you made it out with some freaky monster boyfriend?!” The muzzle of her gun jerks to your left, landing on G.

“_That_, over _**me**?”_

And as you stare her down, you realize how tired, how exhausted you are. When she left, you hadn’t treated her this way. You didn’t chase her down and drag her into the underworld. Didn’t threaten her, betray her, smile in her face like you weren’t planning her downfall.

**You didn’t do everything in your power to tear her life apart.**

Face falling, you continue to stare, taking in every misplaced strand of hair, ever twitch of her eye and clench of her fist and the manicured nails that dig into her palm, every deep, ragged breath, all the rage.

And you could explain to her all that she’s done wrong. And all that you’ve done wrong. And how you don’t know how you’re going to go about life now because of everything that has gone down.

And how you’re terrified because you don’t know how to move on from this because you haven’t amassed the vast amount of money that she has somehow managed to, nor do you have ties to the underworld like she has managed to form. But— Instead, you smile.

Because she wouldn’t care.

“Yeah.”

G takes a step back, and you go with him.

Plummeting over the edge.

**Author's Note:**

> Part One.  
Thank you for your time.


End file.
